


About the Hat

by emmagrant01



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blow Jobs, Deerstalker, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 04:22:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmagrant01/pseuds/emmagrant01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during TRF. Sherlock is still trying to figure out the deerstalker, and John decides to show him another use for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	About the Hat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dixiebell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dixiebell/gifts).



> For Dixiebell. [Because of REASONS](http://emmagrant01.tumblr.com/post/47695782333/so-dixiebell-made-these-gifs-and-sent-them-to-me).
> 
> Thank you to Drinkingcocoa for the very quick beta!
> 
> Gif by watsonsdick: [Just... put the fucking hat on.](http://watsonsdick.tumblr.com/post/47719125848/quote-from-emmagrant01s-about-the-hat)

SHERLOCK: Why is it always the hat photograph?  
JOHN _(looking at the newspaper article)_ : " _Bachelor_ John Watson"?  
SHERLOCK: What sort of hat is it anyway?  
JOHN: "Bachelor"? What the hell are they implying?  
SHERLOCK _(holding up the hat and twisting it back and forth rapidly)_ : Is it a cap? Why has it got two fronts?  
JOHN _(glancing up briefly)_ : It's a deerstalker. _(He reads more of the article.)_ "Frequently seen in the company of bachelor John Watson ..."  
SHERLOCK: You stalk a deer with a hat? What are you gonna do – throw it?  
JOHN _(looking at another part of the article)_ : "... _confirmed_ bachelor John Watson"!  
SHERLOCK: Some sort of death frisbee?  
JOHN: Okay, this is too much. We need to be more careful.  
SHERLOCK: It's got flaps ... ear flaps. It's an _ear_ hat, John.  
 _(He accurately skims the hat across the room to John, who doesn't even have to lift his hand to catch it.)_  
SHERLOCK: What do you mean, "more careful"?  
JOHN: I mean this isn't a deerstalker now; it's a Sherlock Holmes hat. I mean that you're not exactly a _private_ detective any more. _(He holds his thumb and forefinger an inch apart.)_ You're this far from famous.  
SHERLOCK: Oh, it’ll pass.  
 _(He slumps down into his armchair and folds his hands in the prayer position in front of his mouth.)_  
JOHN: It'd _better_ pass. The press _will_ turn, Sherlock. They always turn, and they'll turn on _you_.

Excerpted from "The Reichenbach Fall," as [transcribed](http://arianedevere.livejournal.com/30648.html) by Ariane DeVere. 

*****

"For fuck's sake, will you let it go?"

Sherlock paced the length of the room, his brow furrowed and his mouth a hard line. "I can't let it go, John. I'm psychologically incapable of letting anything go."

"Believe me, I'm aware." John kept his gaze firmly fixed on the newspaper in front of him. "Perhaps you could just… I don't know, take a break? Obsess about something else for a bit?"

Sherlock stopped, somehow finding the dead center of the fireplace (better to frame the insanity, John thought with a sigh), and held the hat at arm's length. "Perhaps it's not merely a hat. Perhaps—"

"Oh, God," John muttered.

"– it's a clue of some sort, another piece of Moriarty's game. He wanted me to be seen in this hat, this particular hat, and so he—"

"Somehow persuaded Greg to purchase it and present it to you?"

"Yes. No." Sherlock scowled. "There must be something more to it."

John dropped the paper to the floor. "All right, fine, I confess. It was me. It was all my idea. Happy?"

"He must've had someone plant the idea somehow, and he knew it would make the papers, push me even more into the public spotlight."

"Are you even listening to me?" John turned to look at him. "I just told you, I was the one who suggested it. He said they wanted to get you something, and I told them it was a lost cause, that you'd hate anything they bought, and then I suggested it as a joke."

"He's setting me up for something." Sherlock tossed the hat to John and steepled his fingers before his chin. 

John looked ceiling-ward. "Why do I even bother talking? It's not as if you ever listen to me."

"I need to think about this. I need—"

"Maybe I'm working for Moriarty. Did you ever consider that?"

"Yes, and rejected it immediately. Preposterous."

"Oh, so you _are_ listening?"

"I always listen when his name comes up."

John stood and retrieved his paper from the floor. "I'm starting to wonder if I've cause to be jealous of bloody Moriarty."

"If he is somehow behind the hat, perhaps—"

"Oh, for—I'm going out." 

John didn't bother to wait for a response; he snatched his jacket from the rack by the door and headed down the stairs.

*****

Sherlock was nowhere to be seen when John returned that evening, which was just as well. He wasn't in the mood to deal with Sherlock right now. In fact, dealing with Sherlock had been growing increasingly difficult for the last few weeks. His obsession with Moriarty was taking a toll on them both, and John wasn't sure how much more of it he could bear. 

He crossed to the kitchen and opened the fridge, and reached past several questionable containers to fish a bottle of beer from the back of the top shelf. He uncapped it and downed half of it standing right there in the glare of the refrigerator light.

"Rough day?"

"Fuck!" John whirled to see Sherlock leaning in the doorway, dressing gown wrapped around him. "I didn't think you were here. That scared the shit out of me, Jesus."

Sherlock's smirk was visible even in the dim light. "I was trying to sleep."

John closed the refrigerator. "Sorry if I disturbed you." 

"I said trying. Success was unlikely."

John exhaled; his heart rate was beginning to slow down to normal. "I suppose so." 

Sherlock nodded his head in the direction of the sofa and disappeared from view. John stared after him for a moment, and then allowed himself a small smile. He drained the rest of his beer and followed.

Sherlock was folded up in one corner of the sofa, one finger absently twisting a piece of hair. He looked almost lost, and John nearly bit his lip at the sight.

Sherlock never outright asked, and neither did John. It wasn't official, nothing they would have told anyone else about. It was just a _thing_ , mutual comfort, friends-with-benefits. Neither of them ever said a word, but when they both wanted it there was a charge in the air, a shift, a strange sort of tension that filled John's lungs and made his fingers tingle and his insides swirl pleasantly in anticipation. 

Sherlock looked up at him then, and the hint of a smile on his face made John's heart beat faster. 

John stopped in front of him and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Too wound up to sleep, are you?"

"It's the fucking hat." Sherlock made a sound almost like a laugh. He ran one hand through his hair, which only made it stand out more than usual. He looked like a lunatic. "I can't stop thinking about what it might mean."

John couldn't help the smirk that formed on his lips. "I know what it means."

"You do?" Sherlock's expression changed to one of reservation. "You don't. You can't. I've been thinking about it for hours, have gone through every possibility and—" 

"Get the hat, Sherlock. I'll show you."

Sherlock shot him a skeptical look, but he reached behind the sofa and fished it off of the floor. He held it up in front of him. "Well?" 

"Put it on."

Sherlock's eyebrows rose comically high. "Why?"

"[Just… put the fucking hat on](http://watsonsdick.tumblr.com/post/47719125848/quote-from-emmagrant01s-about-the-hat)."

Sherlock hesitated a few seconds more, but he finally tugged it firmly onto his head. He looked up at John with an expression of extreme skepticism.

John had to press his lips together to keep himself from grinning. He stepped forward and reached out to untie the ear flaps from the top, and let them fall down to either side. By the time he took one in each hand and pulled Sherlock's head forward, nose nearly to John's belt, Sherlock had clearly worked it out.

Sherlock's nose pressed against John's jeans, tracing the line of his rapidly-growing erection. John heard him chuckle darkly, and then long fingers were unfastening the buckle of his belt, pulling it out of its loops, tossing it to the floor.

John said nothing, did nothing but caress the smooth fabric beneath his fingers. He could only see the hat, oddly; the brim cast what little he could see of Sherlock's face into shadow. He felt his jeans being unfastened and unzipped, and then tugged down over his hips, pants along with them. Sherlock shifted forward on the sofa, his knees fencing John in, and then there was hot breath along the sensitive skin of his cock and _oh God_ Sherlock was good at this.

It had been a while, at least a month – they'd never been terribly regular about it, anyway – and it had been even longer since they'd done this. It was usually a quick mutual handjob in the dark on the sofa, sometimes without even a kiss for prelude. It was just comfort, feeling alive, expressing anger and frustration and everything else that they felt for each other in this twisted co-dependent thing that existed between them. It wasn't particularly healthy and they didn't talk about it, barely even acknowledged it, and neither of them cared. 

John especially didn't care now, with the tip of Sherlock's tongue working its way under the foreskin, his lips brushing teasingly against the head, just enough to hint that—

 _Oh._ Of course. 

John gripped the ear flaps and pulled. Sherlock's mouth descended on him, slowly, wetly, and John eased up on the pressure again almost immediately, uncertain how far he could push this. Sherlock pulled back and paused again with the tip of John's cock against his lower lip, tongue wriggling against the slit in a way that made John's toes curl.

He inhaled, exhaled shakily, and then tugged Sherlock forward again, going further this time, until he felt the glans hit the soft palate, and _fuck_ , but that was hot. He looked down again as Sherlock drew back, and the sight of his cock reappearing from beneath the hat was just… He grinned. 

He'd never look at the hat the same way again. 

He pulled again, a bit harder this time, and Sherlock complied, not stopping even when the brim of the hat pressed into John's belly. That was going to be a problem soon; John shifted the hat backwards on Sherlock's head enough to create some space. The effect was that he could now see Sherlock's mouth, could watch his shaft disappear between those maddening lips, until the hat obscured the view again and Sherlock's nose was pressed against hair, and _fuck_ if he didn't choose that moment to swallow.

John moaned, unable to keep himself silent because that, _that_ was possibly the hottest thing that had happened to him in quite a long time. Sherlock pulled back and John realized he'd forgotten to let go, and he muttered a "sorry" that morphed into a groan as Sherlock's tongue did phenomenal things as it worked its way up the shaft. 

One more time all the way down, and he held the flaps tightly in place until Sherlock swallowed once, twice, and then John's knees shook on the long hard suck that followed. 

"God, your mouth, your perfect fucking mouth," John whispered, and he felt the shape of Sherlock's lips change as he smiled. 

He tugged again, but briefly now, resulting in short, quick bobs of Sherlock's head, light suction around the glans with that glorious tongue never stopping, somehow everywhere at once. There were fingers tugging at his balls then, and one hand wrapped around the shaft and stroked in a counter-movement to John's tugging on the flaps, and the sudden increase in stimulation nearly did him in.

He didn't want it to end so quickly, because who the hell knew when they'd do this again, but there was nothing for it, it was too much now, not enough, just right _there_ and he was coming, sparks around the edges, dark spots behind his eyes and more, more, _God_. It didn't occur to him to let go of the hat, but Sherlock didn't seem to mind, didn't even flinch, just took it, and that was – Jesus, that was—

His knees gave out and he fell nearly into Sherlock's lap, still panting. He looked up at those reddened lips and that ridiculous hat and he couldn't help himself: he laughed.

Sherlock frowned. "I know it was good, so don't bother to suggest—"

"I'm not, no," John said, and captured his mouth in a kiss. Sherlock made a sound of surprise and pulled John against him, and John could taste his own semen. "Oh God, you. I… Let me. Please."

"Yes," Sherlock said, and he fell back against the sofa cushions as John slid to the floor. 

John didn't bother untying the dressing gown; he just pushed the fabric up and tugged Sherlock's pyjama pants down, and descended on his cock. He hadn't done this before, hadn't yet had the chance. He'd always planned to take his time, to lick and tease and work out what made Sherlock squirm, but now – to hell with it, now he just wanted to suck, hard and fast and _more_. Sherlock's hands went to the back of his head, not to push but just to touch, to encourage, and he was making soft sounds now, ones John hadn't been certain he was capable of.

It only took another minute, and then Sherlock's hands clenched his hair so tightly it hurt. His cock grew impossibly harder against John's tongue and John pulled back enough to keep himself from gagging as he came. Sherlock's body tensed and his hips shifted up, pressing into John's mouth involuntarily, and then his entire body went slack. It had been quiet, but it always was with Sherlock, and John had learned months ago not to take it personally. 

He sat back, swallowed with a grimace, and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Sherlock's hands pressed over his eyes for a moment, and he seemed still to be catching his breath.

"Think you can sleep now?" John asked after a moment.

Sherlock laughed. "Considering the biology of male orgasm and the mystery of the ear hat solved, I imagine so." He dropped his hands and looked at John. His face was flushed, a rare sight. "Care to join me?"

John's mouth opened for a moment before he managed to respond. "You mean—" He glanced over his shoulder, towards Sherlock's bedroom.

"Yes." Sherlock raised his hips enough to tug the pyjama bottoms back up and then stood. "Unless you'd rather not."

That was unexpected. It was a precedent John wasn't certain he wanted to set, but then… well, he supposed it couldn't hurt. It probably meant more sex later, and John was definitely all for that. "No, I… Yeah, that would be… All right then." 

Sherlock stood and plucked the hat from his head, and looked at it thoughtfully. "Did you really suggest it to Lestrade?"

"Yes. I didn't think he'd take me seriously, though."

"But it could be that—"

John took the hat and tossed it across the room, and fixed Sherlock with a stern look. "No, stop right there. Don't even think about it."

Sherlock pressed his lips together for a moment, and smiled. "I was just going to say that Lestrade might not find his joke as funny if he knew what use we put it to."

John grasped a handful of dressing gown and pulled Sherlock into a kiss. "If you ever tell him, I'll burn the fucking thing." He paused to run the tip of his tongue along the inside of Sherlock's lower lip. "And wouldn't that be a shame?"

"Wouldn't it just?"

"I'm not sure I want them all to know they're right about us anyway. Or partly right." John attempted a smile, and it felt as awkward as it probably looked.

Sherlock was mid-yawn, though, and hadn't seemed to notice. "Bed. Now." He started for the bedroom, leaving John standing there staring after him. 

John took a deep breath, released it again. What the hell had he just got himself into?

"John!" he heard from the darkness beyond, and John didn't hesitate. He stepped into it, grinning.

*****

~ _fin_ ~


End file.
